Archive for Mayo, 2006

The following is the article I wrote last Monday and is the one I submitted to the Young Blood editorial column of The Inquirer through e-mail two days ago:

It is apparent for the teenagers nowadays to be disturbed in the nation’s turmoils—in which case most of the adults take for granted what teens can say. Ages ranging from the yes-I’m-going-to-high-school stage to the hurray-I’m-having-my-debut period seem to have their own capacity of viewing what is really transpiring in our country. If you agree on the aforementioned, may I take you on what a teenagers’ point of view could be…in behalf of the millions of teenagers considered as the fair hopes of the fatherland.

Some days ago, the movie The Da Vinci Code began to strike a major disturbance throughout the community by sending thunders of controversies and unceasing protestations prior to the content of the motion picture. The movie, as everyone may have known, is the film adaptation of Dan Brown’s novel bearing the same title. Even before the opening of the film, we heard that Tom Hanks’ latest movie is ominous to the Christian community and to the entire country alike—since we are considered as a Catholic homeland—for the reason that its content is a tad blasphemous. Suggestions for banning of the film had been inculcated but then the Movie and Television Regulatory Censorship Board (MTRCB) rated it as “for adults only” (Restricted 18). And for that drastic reason, a quantity of cinemas rejected the showing of Robert Howard’s film. One solid instance is the SM cinemas nationwide barring the movie.

Because of the tittle-tattle that had spread like wildfire all over Filipinos about the contentious movie, scores of thousands indulged themselves on the first day of showing to know why it is being talked about akin to startling showbiz chikas and the triumph of the Filipino mountaineers who had recently gone to the pinnacle of the world’s highest mountain. The dispute created by “The Da Vinci Code” instigated the commoners on being more eager on watching the adaptation. But then, last Thursday, May 25, 2006, Manila interdicted its showing on movie houses as per the resolution of the city council that stated it was a crime to put on view such religion-offensive movie. Beyond doubt, the movie and the novel itself is packed with hullabaloo that triggered youth and religion groups to hold a prayer rally at the Bonifacio Shrine behind the Manila City Hall wherein the glory of the sun witnessed the burning of copies of Dan Brown’s novel and pirated VCD and DVD copies of the film.

Not every one of those who were rallying about the film had watched the film itself, or at the very chance, had read the book. But, you see, there is an awful lot of people joining the benevolence of remonstrations. Some people objects about it because they knew that the film is very profane and it ruins the divinity of Christ. Try to notice that the chief trouble is not really on the movie. If they disagree about the showing of the movie, why didn’t they oppose the selling of the book first? The book had been best selling for a couple of years already. For more than that span of time, why didn’t Filipinos disapproved the novel in a faster rate? Reality: we believe on what we hear is interesting in ourselves.

Thus, if we had just let the movie go on its flow and didn’t succumb ourselves in its controversiality, the wound wouldn’t be that painful, the damage wouldn’t be that towering. There is no trouble about the book because as it is written on the front cover, A NOVEL. So be it. Why can’t we be contented with it as a work of art? The movie is just a work of art and we can’t blame the people behind the film as compared to the unseen veracity about complaining to the author. Why are we fighting for the definition of the factual FACT and the fiction-worked FICTION?

The problem is that we can’t see the real problem. We insist ourselves in pointing out that certain matters are going to deter us on following Jesus Christ, and at the same time we are seeking for the bulky achievements in our lives and can’t even do the right things. We are still taking the path of life with blindfolds that marred the undeniableness of reality. Likewise, there is nothing that can overcome the greatest degree of a person’s love to the Almighty One. The Gospel says that we shall know the truth and the truth shall set us free (John 8:32).

Let us look at life in a perspective filled with betterment, not with references without directions that would make our lives miserable. With this, our lives would be thoroughly decoded by God and no more anagrams would jumble in our mind enigmatically.

“A whole day would be fine. A whole week would be fine. A whole month would be fine. A whole year would be fine. A century would be fine. Basta’t kayakap ka ay okay. I hope we could spend more time together. A few hours is better than never. If only we could make it longer. Fine fine time.”–From Eraserheads’ Fine Time

The stupor, the state I dread, is flowing through my veins right now. It is not caused by lack of sleep for the reason that right now I am teaching myself to sleep on time. For the past, say, five months, I didn’t sleep well. Everytime I go to bed, it seems like it wants to toss me away and so I have so spent time in front of the computer to blog. That was my life on the first quarter of this year. I blog in the middle of the darkness, staring at the screen, thumping at the keyboard, pouring something from my stupid mind. For the past days I never put a word on my weblog, I busied myself on spending time texting. I use that irritable unlimited texting service once in a while just to reach out Brian. I also induced myself on watching television but then to be honest, my couch potato condition was lessen drastically after the closing of my favorite show, Encantadia.

The stupor is chiefly caused by so much injury, so much longing for persons that had been special to me. I have to say this: I am not affected by his departure. But saying it all over again would turn me into a hypocrite and would render me on being lain in a field on untruthfulness. I tried to reach him today, after receiving cellphone load worth P10 from Pamela, while she consequently denied. I told myself I will no longer hold a cellphone but then I had to know his condition so I texted him. Surprisingly, I received a text message saying “Huh? I don’t know you. Kilala mo ba ako? (Do you know me?)”. I replied my name, etching on his mind recollection of my presence. And yet, he texted me this: “I’m not him! Nasa US na siya. Sorry, got to do something. May work pa ako. (I’m not him! He’s on the US. Sorry, got to do something. I still have work.)”

Fine. I have to admit, he never consider me special so much like the way I treated him. I miss him. I am whirling upon a nostalgia I can’t hold on to. The last thing to recur is that the pang is euplastic. I don’t need to get worried. I know he’s enjoying his stay in the US, just like before, as always. I just want him to know that I am still here. I just want to let him know that I still care about him. But then again, just as I always have done, I try to look at deeper side of the premise. He can be just trying to forget me and so he has to say that he is not him and so on. Who would have known? Maybe he’s lying. Maybe he just don’t want me to text him. Perhaps he has forgotten me. Perhaps he never knew a Jonell. However, as I said earlier, the pain is quick-healing. Let it be. Let it be.

On the other side of my head is another melancholy. This invokes every inch of spear, dagger, lance and sword and every kind of sharp instruments to fervently pierce my heart turning it into more vivid heart full of scars and wound. These texts of Pamela doesn’t make any sense of healing, instead, a great degree of invocative longing:

It just made me want this guy more. I mean, hey give my brother back to me. Every night, I imagine myself being with him. And since I already had his picture with me, it’s not that hard to envision. Every now and then I stick my face in front of his so that I can remember how he looks like and also to let him be my stimulus on my dream that night. I inculcate myself that this guy loves me more than anyone else. I have to believe on that. And, for a fact, that’s also the way I feel. You see, this guy caused me so much happiness throughout my lonely, dreary nights. And even if he never had been with me since I knew him, we still love each other so much and you ought to comprehend on that. Whenever Pamela and I are talking over the phone, I am letting her cite me situations when she was with him in Laguna that pertains the two of us. I want all of you to know that I love my brother so much, the same way he loves me, in all honest.

Sincerely, I miss Brian so much. On bed time, I had to content myself on hugging a pillow and put into mind that he’s that. I hug the pillow tightly and it paints a smile on my face. How I wish I could be with him on bed time. How I wish we could have each other and pronounce the love we have. He’s really a brother to me and no one can even replace that position he have in my life. He’s next to God. The last time we were able to communicate, I told him that I love him so much and I am very thankful that he came to my life. I am also grateful on what Pamela had done. She intertwined his best friend and I. If not because of her, I would never have my dearest utol. He also wishes the things I envisage. How we wish we can be together, primarily. How we wish we could spend time together.

Six weeks passed before I in all honest compelled myself on blogging again. Many things transpired so precipitously that I cannot mention each morsel. To put it bluntly, this summer vacation is boring and yet fruitful of unexpected events that I never even thought could happen.To start with was the end of my Junior life. All of the painstaking days of grueling projects, assignments, presentations, notes cramming and life spent at the Isidro Rodriguez Building faltered swiftly like it never squeaked inside my head to be this stupid. I was a lazy third year student of our batch and it is evident on my classroom rank. But then it doesn’t mean that I totally incriminate myself because of the mess I left on the course of my high school life. I still appreciate the school days I spent save the fact that I induced myself on being a vicious student who doesn’t slip on ascertaining an absence on a week’s time. To where or to whom or to what should I put the blame? I absolved myself on the crime I had committed since time spent cannot be reclaimed. I was demoted, like anyone else of almost half of the last year’s section two, to the lowest pilot section, IV-3. It was though a lucky chance for me and everyone else; nobody was tossed outside the tent of the pilot. Everything seems to be scrambled and yet we still have to debase the idea that we are mindless. If yes, then why are we in the special class?

When I was in elementary, beyond doubt, I was a happy-go-lucky scrawny subject of the valedictorian title. I never expected such mesospheric condemnation of competition tightly wrapped around each one’s neck. But the most important product of the past three years of my high school life is the friends I had and still had right now. Who would have survived on the radicalness of being a high school teenager without the caress of friends? No one, indeed. I may be stupid on Math, but I have friends that are there whenever I need them. That’s I nice blessing I always thank for.

Speaking of blessing, it’s wonderful to have a lot of them on the span of two months or so. Blessings from The One Above can be either apparent or elusive. That’s the mystery I learned to immerse. Every emotion or any emotion can be gratefully protruded onto your body while receiving marvelous blessings.

Last month, I indulged myself on reading, I mean reading and reading and reading but then again I became helpless. On the process, I start with Noli Me Tangere. I read the novel and it struck me so much I have to reproof myself for such a wrongdoing on not reading it witfully for my Filipino class. Right now, I am still repenting on such foolish act on buying that book on the last quarter of the past school year instead of being serious on reading it starting on the first grading period. If I did that, then I would be so frenzied on discussing the premise on the class. After reading Noli, I tried to read El Filibusterismo but I was totally depressed by the change of atmosphere, from the drastic change of Crisostomo Ibarra to an explicitly malevolent Simoun, and from the psyched scenes to some boring chapters. I forced myself to go on reading Jane Eyre, more fervidly than before. Bottom line: I was stuck on page 150 something and was not again enthused on touching the book.

The beginning of May helped me to realized one thing: I have to tore those silly pages of my journal to reassure myself that I will have a new beginning. Everytime I open up my journal to write something, I mindfully look at the remains of the torn pages which are stuck in the middle of the notebook on and off to remind myself that I can forget ridiculous thoughts. And so like being on my death bed, I recuperated and it was a gigantic smile that painted on my dull face.

Subsequently, I miss the most important person on my life, my brother, my utol to be precise. Talking about him makes me sad so much, as painful as having an illness. Likewise, I am bearing some false and yet intense grin on the idea that I am reaching out someone who was and is still special to me. Also, I am patching up with my best friend, but, o, she’s still angry at me. I don’t know what to do.

To take it morbidly, without any gloomy subjects involved, I want to take its seriously. No erroneous feelings or thoughts. I have the tell the whole dam truth.

At last I then perceived the presence of invisibility of my tol. Last time, I took his picture from Pamela. At first, I was so angst-stricken on Pamela’s tricks on me but I can’t do anything but to stay sullen. I can’t believe she lost the letter from my tol. That would have been the only thing he wrote for me and yet she didn’t care about my feelings. My tol is so special to me, mind you people, that it can drive me crazy if I reprimand myself to accept the truth that the letter was gone. Shit. I can’t help but to say that same old grind. The truth was unveiled. She doesn’t want to tell me how to go to her house to pick my things because the letter was gone and she was vying for time to search for it. I am that stupid. I told myself I am stupid but then look! What I am craving for was gone and I can’t even believe that I am lost. Lost without the letter. Lost without my dearest tol. It may sound absurd but no one but the three of us know how much my tol and I love each other so much more than anyone else. Pamela? I don’t know what I can do if ever the letter is really gone. I can’t blame her if she did lose the letter; I blame myself for being stupid, really abstrusely stupid on believing and believing and always believing on imaginative things.

This emptiness is over. No more preoccupation. But that is only by now.